


howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn

by Nevcolleil



Series: The Instincts [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Aaron Hotchner as Unsub, Alternate Universe, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil
Summary: And I lost the taste for judging right from wrong  //  for my flesh had turned to fur  //  and my thoughts, they surely were  //  turned to instinct and obedience to God...





	howling endlessly and shrilly at the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2011, when I posted mostly to my own blog on LiveJournal. It's mostly curiosity as to whether anyone will notice this now that has me digging it back up... :p Let me know what you think of it!

By the time he realizes that he knows - that he's suspected for some time now - he realizes that he's already decided not to say anything. Who would he tell if he _didn't_? He realizes that he's been subconsciously eschewing all of the so-called "evidence" that could confirm or debunk his suspicions definitively; or, worse, _destroying_ it.

He realizes that Hotch knows. Hotch _knows_ he knows. Hotch's eyes have started to track his movements around the bullpen with a purpose, dark and weighty. Spencer's started censuring his own thoughts around the round table, like they're so loud inside his head he's frightened that they'll echo in his speech. 

Hotch turns to him one night, as they make their way to the elevator, and Spencer could have protected himself from this. Could still protect himself. It's one thing to cover for a man who's been _killing people_ in his spare time, and it's another to allow yourself to end up alone with him in a building he knows by every nook and cranny and security camera blind spot. Spencer could have left when Morgan did, or he could say "No," when Hotch says, "Need a ride home?"

But he didn't.

He doesn't.

He climbs into Hotch's car ("Aaron," Hotch'll say before the end of the evening; "Call me Aaron, Spencer.") and he isn't afraid of him. He _isn't_. And that's the terrifying thing - that's the thing that has kept him up at nights. He knows that what Aaron is doing is wrong. Wrong. _Messy_ and... personal and clinically pathological (or cleverly disguised to be.) But he hasn't done a damned thing about it. He hasn't breathed a word to anybody. He doesn't say anything when Aaron drives past the turn that would take them to his place, and he doesn't move when Aaron parks them in his own driveway but doesn't turn off the car right away.

He doesn't fear as Aaron reaches over and wraps one hand firmly around the back of his neck. Spencer just looks at him. Just waits. His skin sings where Aaron touches him, sings to every other part of his body until every nerve feels electric, but not with fear. And Aaron's hands have beat the life out of men. Have strangled and slashed and (that one time; at least Spencer's pretty sure it was one of his) _ripped_.

What does it say about Spencer that all he thinks about, as Aaron stares at him, enigmatic, as that hand just rests there, also waiting, is whether or not he's imagining the heat in Aaron's eyes, sitting alongside the consideration.

"How long have you known?" The silence has grown so thick, by the time Aaron breaks it, that Spencer nearly jumps beneath his grasp. Aaron reaches around with his left hand to turn off the ignition, and the sudden absence of the engine's purr makes it seem like the whole world has dropped away from the two of them. There are no sounds except Spencer's own quickened breathing. 

"Does- Does it matter?" Spencer licks his lips, and there's no _imagining_ the way Aaron's eyes dart to Spencer's mouth and back as he does.

"Why haven't you done anything?"

"What-" And Spencer means this. "What could I do?" Aaron is his friend. His _leader_. Spencer feels a loyalty towards him that, under the circumstances, is probably even more twisted than the other thing Spencer feels, but Spencer can't just push those feelings away. 

"You could stop me." 

Spencer almost laughs. He is almost angry. Aaron could almost be putting some of the blame for the deaths he's caused on _Spencer_ , and whether or not he _should_ , Spencer won't have a murderer deciding. 

Aaron leans towards him. "Don't sell yourself short, Spencer. You could take me down. It isn't always about who has the fastest draw or the strongest punch, you know that." And Aaron's thumb moves, just a little. Just a brush, that starts Spencer's nerves tingling again. Just a reminder that the hand is there, and Spencer knows these tactics. Aaron knows he knows them. They've studied microexpressions and body language, physical intimidation basics, _together_. There's an almost playful tilt to the careful line of Aaron's lips that says he isn't trying to suggest otherwise. "You're a smart man. You're a profiler on my team. You could take me out of play if you wanted."

If Spencer _wanted_. And that's the thrill of this for Aaron, isn't it? That's where he's feeding off of Spencer, indulging his craving for control. He must know that Spencer doesn't _want_ to stop him at all. 

The waiting? Has been for Spencer to say it out loud. 

"You wouldn't hurt me." It's not a question, and Spencer doesn't phrase it to be. Aaron isn't the only one who's been needing to hear certain things confirmed. 

"No, Spencer," Aaron says. But the hand remains. Spencer shrugs, just slightly, testing. Aaron's grip tightens, and a white hot surge of 'Yes. _Please_.' travels down to his cock. Twisted, wrong, don't even begin to cover this. "I don't want to hurt you, but I think you want something. You want something or you wouldn't have kept this to yourself, all this time."

Spencer could deny it. He'd be lying; he _has_ wanted, even if he's never expected to _get_ what he wants. He could question how much time "all this time" is meant to reference. Since Foyet? Since before? Spencer just assumed...

Somehow, there's only one thing Spencer wants Aaron to know, and it's the simplest, most honest thing he can think of. "I want you to be alright." And Aaron has been. Lately. He's looked less haggard, even at times when the team has gotten little sleep. He's looked less haunted. If he could pinpoint a reason for the decision he made (without really deciding) not to stop this, Spencer thinks that would be it. Weighed against the lives of his (nowhere near innocent) victims, Aaron's happiness - by Spencer's estimation - just means more.

Spencer didn't know that what he's said would make so big a difference, but when Aaron's face changes, he's glad he said it. All of the tension (except for the very best kind) that had filled the car seems to seep out. And Spencer's sitting next to the Hotch who embraced him the night he killed Tobias Hankle. Who handed him a gun the night they faced Philip Dowd. Who sat with him on the jet and told him to see a movie like it's every day that a respected member of the Bureau acknowledges both a team member's drug addiction and inherent value in the same sentence. 

Except this Hotch still has his hand on Spencer. Is leaning still further towards him. Is maybe not so different as Aaron, as the predator who's watched Spencer for weeks now, gauging, as Spencer supposed he should probably fear. 

"Do you know what I want, Spencer?" Aaron asks. And their lips are a breath away from touching when Spencer finally shakes his head, realizing that he's meant to answer.

Aaron's tongue at the corner of his mouth births tremors in the very center of Spencer's chest. 

Just before they kiss, Aaron says it. Seals Spencer's fate. Makes it all real; makes it forever, for the both of them.

"I want you to watch."

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Furr" by Blitzen Trapper.


End file.
